tall tales in the burrow..

Nines

She’d lead you through briar, bush and thorn and leave you torn and battered but enraptured by her song. I’d seen her work enough times to admire her style and admiration was all it was. I played a different game, I sought the perfect kill, my terms, my locations, my call and I gave the impression that you had made it happen. It was perfect for a getaway, I’d leave them thinking it was all their doing. So we walked parallel paths and I’d been tempted one too many times to see if I could a weave thread with them but each time the strands withered. We’d dance, but to different tunes. I’d have her though, one day, it’s a long game and these nights have been devoid of a little fun.

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I’d known all along that there were things that Eric had left unsaid, business being what it was I understood but then again he was meant to be a civilian so business wasn’t meant to a factor. He’d introduced himself a while back, at some backwater pub I’d been drinking off my cotton mouth from the previous night, he looked like a nice fellow, who liked the drink as much as I did but without the cynicism that drove me to it. He’d said he was an analyst for bitco, the bank that jumped on the crypto-currency bandwagon way back in the new millennium when they still used paper money and was the big chief about here parts with their pudgy bejewelled fingers in about every pot. I’d let him sit with me and buy me a drink or two and we’d swapped a story or two. For a desk jockey he seemed to get around but there was an air about him, there was something a little off about his jovial nature, a little put on, a shroud to hide the steel beneath. You had to look closely and know what you were looking for; the occasional quick scan of the room, back always to the wall, the hard glint in his eye that would pop up when something unexpected would happen although it was quick to disappear, but what sealed it was the tension. Eric was a tightly coiled spring, you could feel the power and grace hidden in that deceptively lanky frame. I picked that up when I’d bumped into him in a drunken stumble one night through Woodstock. I’d caught him unawares but even then I barely caught him. He’d looked at me with surprise and then tried sheepishly to cover up his rather quick reflexes for a guy who was meant to be two sheets to the wind and barely on two feet. He’d kept his distance since and I sobered up mighty quickly after that my mind whirring trying to figure out what his angle was and what really was his story. Over time I’d let the incident pass and put it down to old habits lulled perhaps by the slightly spiky hair, the rumpled shirt and coat as if he’d slept at the desk, the lax tie and quick laugh at anything remotely funny and the not so funny. An easy guy to please but sitting here on this dank couch, with the green dragon working through my system I watched him work over the Russian it gave me a little bit of the chills. I thought I knew but watching him now I knew I knew nothing at all. There was a game afoot, not even the game I’d been playing and I’d been brought along to either play the patsy or the dove or the dame or god forbid all of them. I needed to figure out before he hit pay dirt and this went the way of Nero.

[03:13:06] Nines: the story too (a tale that moves the story, as in the story feels? That in itself is one hell of a feat. Settle for that, telling a story that feels, for darn sakes, a sentient story.)

[03:13:16] Nines: wherever we may tell it

(images of something akin to this: He fell in love with a girl once, not so long ago. She was bright to his dullness, with a cute dimpled smile that stretched her face were he had his taciturn tight-lipped pressed grimace. She danced to life’s beat and he hobbled. She was all the things he was not. But despite all this there was love there; flourishing even as it fought the battles it didn’t know it fought. To each, the sun shone through the eyes of the other, each caress the gentle touch of the silver moon, each word as soothing as silk. Even when enveloped by each other’s darkness, they could see the light that kept the shadows at bay. But despite this, here he was sitting on a park bench holding a scarf, a letter stained with his tears and a fairy’s wand. Somewhere along the line as these things are wont to do something went wrong. It’s a sad tale perhaps, a tale of a bargain, a promise broken, a lost diadem that was never lost and a twice broken mirror. Mostly however, it is a story of fairies and pixies; a story of Puck, Tinkerbell, Tatiana and Oberon. A story of the Fae…)

[03:13:49] Nines: i forgot

[03:13:58] Nines: for a moment

[03:14:06] Nines: where i am

[03:14:16] Nines: but where most

[03:14:26] Nines: i should be (pray thee tell us where it is you must be)

[03:14:46] Nines: and this in the telling next morn,

[03:15:03] Nines: shall be much better than its foretelling

[03:15:31] Nines: because progression afore

[03:15:41] Nines: it, foretold it.

[03:16:11] Nines: ai, wena, zvandatatura pano, (I’ve never been one for languages but I guess it says- wow, this that i have said)

[03:19:26] Nines: telling a story, not the one I set out but a story nonetheless

[03:19:35] Nines: a summary

[03:22:54] Nines: of all human art, there about or so. in a style and hopefully substance of what future english students might discuss on the merits of each line. and here is it, the kicker, what actually every writer has tried to convey – This is, today, in homer’s time, shakespeare’s time, fitzpatricks’s, poe’s, wordsworth’s, twain’s, yeezus and hova – it’s all bullshit. IT’S ALL BULLSHIT. IAB

(My good man, don’t worry about something that isn’t going to happen, no English major is going to study this even if its better than the weeks I agonised over Ulysses. Fair point though, it is all bullshit; Even more so when you look at all this in the plain light of day. Definitely more so then.)

[03:23:11] Nines: i am high (I think that’s rather clear old boy)

[04:08:05] OH MY GOD

hayibo, the things I almost said in an alternate future that isn’t this one about the things I almost said this would be a ridiculously long posting of absolutely nothing that matters (isn’t it already?), that lures you in a never series of near missed and mistakes unending and that near grasp that gives you a smidgen of hope. yeah that one, about the loop. yes, another posting of the loop. yes, this it. the loop, unending, cyclical. there goes it, hope, jumping around enticing begging for the chase. but i’m stuck in the beauty of the conception of the chase and this music in my ear, trance, flying, so beautiful this sound, sound, sou….S>S»>OO»»>U»>ND»>..DDDDDD…. climatic… explains the explosions. “Waiting for the Night” – Alone: Armin Van buuren.

Chindori – Baba Jukwa (Ah, a bit of Zimbabwe politics; must be that Facebook page that Zimbos follow that brought this on. You didn’t strike me as a chap who would be interested though. All that live in the moment stuff, or was it YOLO, you spout whenever anyone lends you an ear leads to that conclusion.)

It’s not as innocent as I chose to think… even in the jokes , jokes about cars and dying I forgot to pay attention of sinister implications…. Strangely in this moment I do… wow… Zim is a hard place to live.

(Clearly too hard a topic to discuss, a mood killer, so you change tack.)

Reprise (also an Armin Van Buuren track, but let me not get ahead of myself or you rather.)- how fitting for this moment-“Under pressure” by Queen pops into my head reliving high school, the dance, what if I’d asked Jo and if I hadn’t taking the girl I took.. The finality of reality. 4.23 am
Armin Van Buuren’s album “Intense”­. has been playing on loop the whole time. 3 hrs. Tranced out and flied out. 3 hrs. These are chronicles.

There is light at the end of the tunnel. You keep saying it. Even if it’s another loop. You’ll get out one day. Ahh, another memory. I’ll transcribe the loop conversation one day. This will have to suffice in its stead. I keep recapping 1970-90 comics, rehashing, reintroducing. The loop of today being on History rather than the loop itself. A self-induced reflexive piece. A memory of the harshness of their work tempered by time. Humanity regresses more still. I must save it because, because I’m BATMANNN… Plus he embodied that age. Just saying. Noir cartoon for the win plus 90s Ztv and its backwardness. Enriching my childhood. The memories, the advent of teenage hood felt just like this. Trance being the natural rhythm of life. Glad we finally got to this stage. The answer to the question the mice had found. That is what the number meant. The number of beats in a trance song that lead to symphonic harmony. Teenage hood, coming to grips with the awkwardness of life. But that moment before it is this transic state. 4.36am
Side commentary. When sober. This here would make a solid one man play. 4:40 am

(Well old boy, you got your side commentary and frankly speaking ITS ALL BULLSHIT. I suggest expending your efforts elsewhere or changing tack. But yes, it would make an awesome play wouldn’t it, expanded of course. With me as the star of course, I come from noble blood you know, as a result I have a natural gravitas. I would have studied Drama after Eton but the old fox wouldn’t have any of it. Yes, the finality of reality.)

Armin Van Buuren still playing in the background.

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I walked into the bar and a nervous hush fell upon the room, with eyes shifty as they sought the exits and those who couldn’t, attempted to blend into the shadows. There was a silence , only for a moment but as soon as they knew who I was, to a soul they all began to laugh. It had been a tough day. I popped my collar and ignored the jeers and cackling and sauntered over to my usual stool at the corner of the bar. Frank, that old bear, just served me my usual. I was in no mood to talk. That dame had got me good, too darn good. It would be a while before I could walk in the open again without a snicker behind my back. It would be the shadows then. Besides, in my line of business, I preferred the shadows. I of course knew that she was going to be trouble when she first walked into my office, the dames are always trouble, but this one reeked of it. Not just trouble, the worst kinda trouble and as my old lady used to say ‘I should watch my curiosity, at least a cat had nine lives’ – I always laughed and did it anyway. So there she was, trouble, they called her Adler she said and she needed a job done. I looked up at her, blew a smoke ring and took another drag. I told her then I didn’t work for strangers business being what it was. ‘But’ she said ‘Marty the rat said you were the man, or rather, the fox for this’. Inwardly I cussed that cretin; you could never trust a rat to keep his mouth shut. After all, he was a rat and rats rat. ‘So then, what is the job that you have for me?’ She told me. I cussed that rat even more so. This gig would be the death of me but I was curious. I might not have nine lives but I sure made this one that I got had good mileage.

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I dropped the hand that had been reaching for the door, turned and looked him in the eye “This isn’t my choice. I just simply have to do it.”

“You always have a choice”

“Only if I have the power”

“Then go get it”

I snickered. “Karl, to do that I’d have to buy the city. I don’t have that kind of green”

“Use the slums, they’re cheap and often free. They are hungry”

Now I openly laughed. “Old friend, there is no such thing as a free meal. Besides, I have no wish to be a messiah, pretend or otherwise”

“Messiah?”

“Because they have to be led. I trust myself more than some hack who had the muscle and the chops to claw himself to the top.”

“They don’t need to be led Nines. It’s about time we took what was ours.”

I turned to leave, “You’re on your own on that. Somebody always has to lead.” And with that i walked out. I knew what Karl felt about such things. If I stayed any longer he’d trap me in a never-ending round about discussion I had little interest in. I had no doubt he believed Continue reading →